Song and Dance
by InitialLuv
Summary: It's canines and Rat Packs. (Missing Scenes from "McCormick's Bar and Grill.")


_**Summary:** _ In _**"McCormick's Bar and Grill,"**_ Mark's father Sonny Daye appears unannounced, and gifts his son with a deed to a nightclub. The establishment is not only decrepit and unseemly, but is also strongly desired by some unwholesome-type individuals, i.e. the mob.

One part of the episode always bothered me: Sonny's mention of young Mark once wanting a puppy, in 1960 or 1961. This doesn't track – according to _**"Ties My Father Sold Me,"**_ Mark turns 30 in 1984. If you do the math (and you don't even need a calculator), you'll see that since Sonny disappeared on Mark's fifth birthday, the lounge singer would not have been around/in his son's life past 1959.

This is the basis for my following tale. (Note: The 1969 events that McCormick references are explained further in my story _**Inheritance Tax**.)_

 **-ck**

 _Disclaimer: These beloved characters do not belong to me, and I am writing for fun and feedback,_ _ **not**_ _for profit._

* * *

 _ **Song and Dance**_ **by InitialLuv**

 _"Whaddaya think, I don't remember? I've got a mind here like a slot machine.  
_ _It was Christmas, 1960 or '61._ _Dean Martin had a big record that year.  
_ _Markie here wanted a little puppy."_ _  
_

 _(_ _Sonny Daye, to Mark McCormick and Milt Hardcastle,_ _ **"McCormick's Bar and Grill"**_ )

ooOoo

It had been a near thing, almost clobbering his father. But when Mark McCormick had heard an obvious intruder in the pre-dawn darkness, Tonto mode had kicked in.

Mark pulled back a step as Sonny Daye stood and adjusted his clothes. The older man glanced around the dim gatehouse, and let out a low whistle. "Nice place," he murmured.

Sonny's noticeable admiration of the surrounding luxury was enough to pull Mark out of his initial shock. Acerbic sarcasm kicked in. "If you were looking for a safe, you're in the wrong place. That's in the main house."

Sonny's lips were pursed when he turned back to face his son. "I'm in the right place. I was looking for you."

"Yeah? So why were you sneaking in at four a.m. for, then? You're lucky I didn't punch you." Mark shook his head before he added, somewhat menacingly, "And if you don't start talking, I still might."

If Sonny took Mark's words to heart, it didn't show on his face. The man was now mildly checking his watch – an elegant gold timepiece – and yawning at the same time. "You know, kid, I've been up all night, and I'd like a little shut-eye. Think I can bunk on your couch, here?"

Mark stared at his father mutely, too dazed to immediately answer. _Why is it that Hardcastle has umpteen guest rooms in the main house, and so many people end up lodging over here?_ The younger man ran his fingers through his hair, looked at the couch, and then again at Sonny. Mark frowned grimly, unable to keep his suspicions at bay.

"Will you still be here in the morning? Or am I gonna wake up in a couple of hours and find a note on the couch?"

It took Sonny a few seconds to respond. And in that brief moment, Mark realized that if he hadn't interrupted his father's clandestine visit, he most likely would have woken up to find another handwritten missive from the man.

Sonny covered his hesitation with a second yawn. "Give me a break here, Mark. I'm beat. Anyway, I'm here to talk to you and the judge. I'm not going anywhere." Sonny gestured at the door of the gatehouse, in the direction of the driveway. "I've even got a suitcase in the trunk – couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, razor – the whole works."

Mark was suddenly too tired to continue the discussion. He threw his hands up in surrender. "I don't care. Take the couch. I'm going back to bed." He stalked away, to climb the staircase to his bedroom two steps at a time.

Sonny watched ruefully as Mark disappeared into the loft. The older man sighed, taking off his suit jacket and folding it over his arm, then draping it over the nearby chair. He loosened his tie, and next sank onto the couch to take off his shoes. He barely had the first shoe off when his son was back at his side. Mark wordlessly tossed a pillow and a blanket on the couch, and then ascended the stairs a second time.

* * *

Milt Hardcastle had the basketball in his hands but never made it to the court. Once he saw the strange Cadillac in the driveway, he tossed the ball aside and went directly to the dark red convertible. Hardcastle scanned the plates briefly before opening the passenger door and reaching for the glove compartment.

"Let me know what name you find on the registration."

The judge looked up as McCormick approached. The younger man was dressed and looked like he'd been up for a while. "Whaddaya mean?" Hardcastle asked, his eyes narrow. "You don't know whose car this is?"

Mark jerked a thumb over his shoulder. There was another man now exiting the gatehouse, shrugging into a grey suit jacket as he trailed behind McCormick. Seeing Hardcastle standing near the Cadillac, the nattily dressed man smiled brightly. "Hi, Judge!"

Milt sighed. "Morning, Sonny."

ooOoo

Milt wasn't sure what he had expected with the three of them in the kitchen for breakfast. He'd listened absentmindedly to McCormick and Sonny bicker as he'd stood at the stove, cooking the eggs.

Sonny had made some clueless guesses as to the reason for McCormick's frustrated anger, ultimately settling on how "Markie" had wanted a puppy for Christmas when he was a kid. The brief but detailed story had included an off-handed reference to Dean Martin, a comment that had seemed to really rankle McCormick. Eventually the arguments had wound down some, and Hardcastle had offered to leave the father and son to a private discussion, but that had been shot down quickly and firmly by McCormick. And it was probably a good thing he'd stayed, as Milt had soon been called upon to play referee, to prevent one or both men from heatedly leaving the table.

It wasn't too much later when the reason was at last revealed for Sonny's unexpected appearance: a deed to a nightclub, which the lounge singer indicated was to be a gift for his estranged son.

Milt excused himself from the breakfast table and decamped to the den, to call City Hall about the filing and potential transfer of the deed. Mark began to clean up the dishes, clattering plates and glasses as he transported them from the table to the counter near the dishwasher.

"You want some help with those?" Sonny asked quietly.

Mark shrugged, then turned back briefly from the dishwasher. "Grab the pans off the stove," he said, equally quiet. "I usually do those in the sink."

Sonny did as requested, bringing the pans to Mark. The younger man silently placed them on the counter, and seemed to intently study their grease- and food-spattered surfaces. His voice was edgy when he finally spoke.

"You weren't around in 1961. Not even in '60."

"What?" Sonny looked honestly confused.

"That stupid thing you said, about remembering that I wanted a puppy back in '60 or '61." Mark turned around to lean against the counter with his arms crossed. He glowered at Sonny. "You took off in '59. 'Mind like a slot machine'? More like a bad check."

Sonny gazed down at the floor thoughtfully. "'59. Huh. You know, you're right." He looked up. "'Dino's version of 'Volare' came out in '58. I betcha that's what I was thinking of. You would've been, what – four, then?"

Mark didn't confirm the guess. He looked at his father cautiously. "You actually remember when things happened based on what songs were popular."

The older man shrugged humbly, then tapped his head. "It's a gift."

Mark took in a tense breath. "So what was the big, popular song for lounge singers in 1969?"

"Oh," his father laughed, "another Rat Pack hit – Sammy Davis, Jr.'s 'I've Gotta Be Me.' Yeah, that was a good one. He released it late in '68, but it didn't hit big for him until . . . " Sonny saw Mark's bleak expression and rigid pose, and sobered. "Why?" he asked, belatedly grasping that maybe he should've asked that question first.

"That's the year I turned fifteen," Mark answered, "and the year my mother died." His voice was flat, emotionless.

Sonny exhaled, looking at the floor. When Mark realized there would be no response, he turned back to the sink, turning on the faucet full strength.

"What, you're not done in here yet?" Hardcastle had come in through the doorway to see the half-filled dishwasher and the unwashed pans. "C'mon, I got everything taken care of. Let's get going here, so we can go take a look at this place!"

Mark didn't answer, only scrubbing at the pans vigorously. Sonny grinned at Hardcastle. "Be right behind you, Judge!" he said, and with a glance at Mark, he moved to leave the kitchen.

"Sonny."

The older man turned at his son's call. Mark was still looking into the sink, at his hands in the soap suds.

"You were right about the puppy."

"Yeah?" Sonny moved back toward Mark. "I got that right?"

"Yeah." Mark lifted his head, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Sonny returned the look with a sincere smile of his own. "Well, I had to get something right eventually."

 _ **END**_

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_ **:** The song **"I've Gotta Be Me"** was originally titled **"I've Got to Be Me"** and is from the Broadway musical **_Golden Rainbow_**. In the 1968 musical, the song is sung by character Larry Davis, who is played by – Steve Lawrence. (He's the actor who portrayed Sonny Daye.)

 **-ck**


End file.
